


The Wayfarer

by karrenia_rune



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Yuletide, challenge:Yuletide 2005
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-27
Updated: 2014-03-27
Packaged: 2018-01-17 05:32:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1375666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karrenia_rune/pseuds/karrenia_rune
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Sam learn about a local Midwest legend about ordinary folks 'adopting' phantom hitchhikers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Wayfarer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Seanan](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Seanan).



 

 

Supernatural belongs to the WB, its producers, and creators, none of the characters including Dean and Sam Winchester are mine; they are only borrowed for the purposes of the story.

 

A lonely stretch of road connected the rural areas with the main downtown Chicago. 

If there had been any passerby's they might have noticed how unnaturally chilly and silent the night had become. However, because the road was deserted.

So there was no one to observe the figure in the long black duster coat emerging onto the road, black duster coat trailing behind in bedraggled stripes, leading by the hand another smaller, slighter figure. A girl with chestnut brown hair and a white satin dress, he walked with her to one of the miles post markings and stood to wait for something to happen.

A black convertible barreling down that stretch of road would be an unexpected sight even at the best of times, so when the driver of the car with his front headlights had the entire stretch of road to themselves.

Because the car belonged to Dean and he treated his car for it like it was his baby, Sam had not put up much of protest when his brother insisted on driving.

The only problem with that, in what had become a cross-country road trip in the ongoing quest to find their missing father Dean was developing black circles under his eyes, reminding Sam of a raccoon. "Maybe we should have stopped and picked up coffee."

"I'm fine. So quit worrying," Dean replied.

"I'm not worried, I'm just expressing a legitimate concern."

"Fine. Do you want to get out and run alongside?"

"No."

Sam took his mind off his brother's surliness for a second to glance down at the dashboard where the lit up display of the clock told him it was at least an hour past midnight and both of them were showing signs of fatigues. His mind couldn't help cycle through all kinds of half-baked crazy ideas at this hour. He reached for the glove compartment, opened it and took out a road map.

He had just had it open to the stretch of road they were driving down when he jolted forward in his seat. Dean had slammed on the breaks, cursing under his breath, then put the car into cruise control.

"What the hell did you do that for?"

"Maybe you should take the wheel," Dean replied, glancing over at his brother. "Because I think I'm seeing things. I know the mind plays tricks on you, especially when you're tired and on a night like this, but do you see anyone else on this road?"

"Not since we passed the motel three hours ago."

"Great, so I'm not going crazy, that's reassuring."

"I've got theories about that."

"You've always got theories, but you pick a rotten time to be arguing about this.

Coming towards their car, parallel to them on the left side of the road a man and a young girl were waiting, hitchhikers.

"I think we should stop the car." Sam said.

"I think we should keep moving," Dean replied, shaking his head, squirming around in the padded driver's seat, trying to get comfortable. He stared out the front window trying to meet the gaze of the man in the black duster coat; the more he tried to lock gazes the more it seemed the man's gaze kept slipping away from him.

It was an odd feeling; not evasive so much as slippery, it made Dean uncomfortable, angry and confused all at the same time. Dean didn't know what to make of the little girl; she seemed more lost and confused then he was at this moment.

"Why?"

"How much hitchhikers have you heard about that can pass right through a moving car without a scratch on them?" Dean muttered.

"Huh?"

"You heard me. They walked right through us."

"I think we've found our phantom hitchhikers. I mean, if you remember, we got that tip from a local family near Chicago there must be some kind of connection," Sam said.

"That's our connection," Dean said as he reduced speed long enough to point out a red brick farmhouse with a long, wide driveway, the metal mailbox on its post indicating the residence of the Phillips family. At the end of the driveway, the house looked well maintained and inviting.

"Oh ye of little faith," Dean added, "I've already got our cover story. If you recall a newspaper article said, in addition, to be farmers for their livelihood, these fine folks also dabble in local area history, which includes giving guided tours of a museum that specializes in the paranormal.

"Great, we're going to pretend to be tourists," Sam sighed, "I'd think I'd almost prefer our last cover story when we pretended to be U.S Marshalls."

"Sam, we can't be official sounding all the time." Let's go."

Later

Dean stopped the car, turning the key in the ignition, parking in the middle of the driveway. Sam got out the passenger side door and walked up the house's front doorway waiting for his brother before knocking. Behind him the sky became streaked with light pink clouds as the sun rose to begin the new day. 'Good thing they're farm folk." Sam thought and shoved the thought into the back of his mind.

In response to Sam's knock on the brass knocker on the door, an elderly man, perhaps in his late 50's or early 60's opened the door. "Yes," he said in a thick Irish brogue.

"Hello, sorry about dropping in unannounced but it couldn't be helped. I'm Jeff Bridges and this Beau, and we heard about the museum you run about local ghost legends and paranormal legends. And we'll call me crazy but I, that is we, think there might some truth to them." Dean darted a glance at Sam that said 'play along.'

"And you came all this way to find what's what is that it?" Mr. Phillips asked.

"I guess so. "Dean shrugged.

"I'm surprised anyone would come this far off the beaten path, for our little slice of Chicago history," Mr. Phillips remarked. "It's nice to see young people taking such a keen interest in history."

"Roger," his wife said, "Don't just stand there at a half-open door, invite them in already. She smiled, "I've just put a pot of coffee, and you certainly look like you could use some, and I'll have breakfast on the table in a jiffy."

"That's very kind of you, Mrs. Phillips," Sam said, "but we wouldn't want to impose. But we will take you up on that coffee offer."

"Breakfast, did you say," Dean added. "Oh, for breakfast we could impose."

On foot this time, Dean and Sam led by Roger Phillips and his wife Sarah, walked out to the stretch of highway where, according to local folklore legend, an accident had occurred dating back to the 1800's, in the days of the horse and buggy.

"It's tragic, really, when you stop to think about," Sarah said, shaking her head and scuffling her booted feet in the loose gravel of the road. "How the wee lass perished. Her thick Irish brogue more pronounced as she became more agitated deeper into to the story of Mary and her legal guardian, Douglas Merrimack.

"If it weren't bad enough of her losing her parents to yellow fever, to have her go at the same time, well it'll be enough to melt your heart."

"What happened," Dean pressed, anxious to move things along.

"Well, it seems that Merrimack had got mixed up in some rather shady business, or as some do tell it, he was being yanked around by his chain by folks claiming a share in young Mary's inheritance after the death of her parents. " Sarah kept walking holding the hem of her dress balled up in her fists so it would not drag in the dirt and dust of the road.

Her husband picked up the tale of the phantoms' identity. "One would think that in matters of inheritances the members of the deceased's family wouldn't squabble over the biggest pieces of the pie," Roger darted a significant glance at Dean obviously expecting some kind of response.

Dean paused, thought it over, and nodded, "One would think. So, what happened?"

"They had a falling out. And eventually, no one in the family would speak to each other,  
or at best kept their distance."

"I suspect the poor thing's heart gave out. I heard tell Sarah was always a bit on the frail side and yellow fever did the rest."

"I guess you would know better than us," Dean said, "since you run the museum and all but don't ghosts usually chose their place to haunt because of unfinished business at the time of their death?"

"Good guess," Roger replied. "I think that's what happened to Mary and her guardian."

"How did the pair end up haunting this particular stretch of road," Sam asked, glancing around. "If I were a ghost, and mind you that's a big 'If, I think I would pick a little bit nicer place to haunt."

"Sarah chuckled. "Dearie, I think you are a long way from having to choose your place to haunt."

No sooner than Sarah mentioned that the growing early winter chill in the air dropped by several degrees and the early morning ground fog rose up from the ground. In the back of his mind, Sam thought it resembled the kind of fog that you'd see in the movies when they brought in the special effects people. 'Nice atmosphere,' he thought then shoved the idle thought aside.

The phantoms solidified out of the fog, one dressed in the torn and bloody white gown; the taller and older phantom dressed in black duster coat and top hat. The older led them out to the edge of where road and treeline met and took up a waiting posture

"Do they know anyone is here?" Dean asked. "They look like they're waiting for a ride."

"Sometimes," Sarah replied, "With ghosts it is difficult sometimes to know their exact intentions, but I don't believe they mean anyone any harm."

"I guess there are exceptions to every rule." Dean ignored the speculative look in Sarah's eyes when he said that.

"You've been watching too many horror movies," Roger said. "I suspect the legends of a phantom hitchhiker did have its origins in tales of lone motorists late at night encountering the phantoms and coming to grief. Mary is not that sort.

"I guess that ends the tour," Sam said watching the pair dissipate into the evaporating mist.

Conclusion

As Dean and Sam got into their car the next morning, waiting for the engine to turn over, a basket of baked goodies in the backseat; Dean turned to his brother. "Amazing, isn't it, how that couple adopted a pair of phantom hitchhikers. Treat them almost like family."

"I'd rather not speculate on that right now," Sam replied. "Although, it would make for a fascinating paper, I don't intend to write one."

Dean pulled out of the driveway and back onto the road, a few miles in Dean replied. "Who knows, you might yet get to write that thesis on the existence of the paranormal, we've certainly managed to amass quite a bit of practical evidence."

"You do manage to surprise me once in a while." Sam smiled. "We'll find Dad first, right?"

"Of course," Dean replied. "I promise you that."


End file.
